


to be alone with you

by teddyaltmeme



Series: been too long [1]
Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: I’m not really sure how to explain this other than Blake is a 19 yr old boy and they do be like that, M/M, Pre-Canon, Sexual Frustration, i would know I also am 19, scos mad crushin but who isnt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:40:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22521154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teddyaltmeme/pseuds/teddyaltmeme
Summary: Today is a nightmare- most days are out here are, but differently so. Blake is on edge, has been for hours. Apparently he slept poorly and is tired, but Will suspects theres another level to it. He’s been tired before and it usually leaves him more placid than anything- but today every little thing seems to be weighing on him.
Relationships: Lance Corporal Schofield/Lance Corporal Blake, William Schofield/Thomas Blake
Series: been too long [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1625581
Comments: 11
Kudos: 255





	to be alone with you

**Author's Note:**

> what is this u ask, but i have no answer 
> 
> title is a sufjan stevens song, very them vibes imo
> 
> i have no friends pls come talk to me abt them on twitter @crocby

Blake isn’t very good at controlling his emotions. He’s not like some of the men Will has known, who seem to live in a state of anger. It’s just that when he feels things, he feels them very strongly. He puts on a brave face, sure, but Will thinks it’s about as effective as a paper raincoat.

It’s one of the many reasons Will finds it impossible to stay mad at him. The second his brow starts to furrow or his smile starts to fade, Will breaks. Blake has found all of Will’s soft spots and he doesn’t even know it. The worst of all, though, is when his eyes start to wet and his cheeks turn a horrendously indecent shade of pink. Worst because as wrong as he knows it is- as hard as he tries to ignore it- he always wonders what else might inspire a reaction like that. What it might take to make him  really cry.

Maybe it’s because Will hasn’t cried in a long time, he’s starting to think he can’t cry anymore, and he wants to feel something- even vicariously. Maybe it’s because he looks so strangely pretty when he’s frustrated; like an oil painting. Either way it’s selfish and he knows it.

Today is a nightmare- most days are out here are, but differently so. Blake is on edge, has been for hours. Apparently he slept poorly and is tired, but Will suspects theres another level to it. He’s been tired before and it usually leaves him more placid than anything- but today every little thing seems to be weighing on him. 

The last straw comes when he fumbles with a button on his kit a little too long- fails, after too many attempts, to get it through. The threat of tears rises once again; they glaze Blake’s eyes as he lets himself fall back into the grass. Will tries to think of something to say, anything really, to distract from the situation. For his own sake as well as Blake’s. But nothing comes. Instead he reaches his hands out, fingers brushing against that bastard button. Will intends to do it up for him but Blake shifts and all of a sudden Will’s caught in the headlights of his gaze.

‘What are you doing?’ Blake asks, no discernible emotion in his voice or on his face- just the ghost of upset.

‘I- uh, fixing it, I suppose,’ They both look at his hands, where they hover above Blake’s body. He hadn’t really thought about doing it until he’d started, ‘The button.’

‘Don’t bother,’ Blake sighs as he lays back down, his head makes a gentle thump as it hits the earth, ‘I’ll only take it off again.’

Will does it up anyway, the feel of the fabric a stark reminder that under all this wool Blake’s belly is still soft- not yet wasted away by army rations and manual labour. He’s seen it before, of course he has, he’s seen pretty much all there is to be seen of Blake; there is nothing private about a soldier’s life save a rank. But, inthat moment, he wants desperately to be able to touch it;touch any of Blake. To feel Blake’s pale, unmarred skin against his calloused hands. A moment of tenderness amongst all the horror. Once he’s done he doesn’t move his hands, a part of him keeps them resting on Blake’s torso. Blake looks at him again, but this time it’s merely a tilt of the head. There’s always been something about the way Blake looks at him that makes it feel as though he can read Will’s mind, but doesn’t quite understand the language. Like the words seem familiar but their exact meaning is lost on him. Blake looks holy like this; his rosy cheeks, his blue eyes, his freckles, the trace of baby fat that rounds out his features. His dark hair lit up golden by the setting sun is a makeshift halo. Blake probably is the closest to heaven Will will ever get. 

Will makes to move but Blake catches his wrist before it gets far. He pulls it not to it’s prior position, but toward his face- the further distance pulling Will into an awkward lean. Blake presses a kiss to his palm. For a second it seems the whole world boils down to the hot press of Blake’s lips on his skin. It’s a thank you as much as it is a confession, it offers a sense of clarity Will might not have achieved on his own. It’s all very obvious now, what this had been about from the start; need. Blake’s still young after all and there’s not often a chance to  _relieve_ oneself in such close quarters- and if there is it’s never quite enough. He’s all pent up. He feels Blake’s hand slip from his wrist but doesn’t really register it, too caught up in the revelation to think straight. Will touches his fingers to Blake’s lips. It’s a gentle touch- barely there- but it’s enough to make Blake’s breath hitch, to make his mouth part. Will’s not sure what possesses him to do it, but he pushes a finger past them; the soft, wet heat of Blake’s mouth is almost unbearable. 

‘Tom,’  Will all but breathes, but it still rings out like a shot- louder than any whizz-bang. Worth it, though, for the way Blake moans; a quiet, unintentional thing, merely a reaction to the use of his given name. One he probably hasn’t heard in months, one far too intimate for foreign ground. 

Will wants to hear it again- louder, longer- but they’re out of sight not earshot.

Without thought he adds another. Blake watches him closely, his blue eyes all but black now. Will can feel Blake’s teeth graze against his fingers, can feel Blake’s tongue underneath them. There is nothing holy about this.

‘We can’t do this,’ Will says, as if he weren’t the one who started it- whatever  it is.

‘ _Please,’_ Blake whines but it’s muffled around Will’s fingers. They can’t possibly taste good; caked in mud.

The thing about Blake is that he is, in every sense of the word, good. He’s kindhearted, brave, and painfully optimistic and though he may joke and tease, he is, at his very core, well behaved- obedient even. Will reckons that this is a byproduct of his upbringing; a born and bred farm boy. That out there, where the air is clean and the stars are still visible, there was nothing to corrupt him; only a mother who taught him love, a brother who taught him loyalty, and a church that taught him wrong from right.  
For Will, the city boy that he is, to touch him with his lungs full of smog and his empty night skies seems blasphemous- if it wasn’t enough already. All of Will’s townhouses and proper schools could never make him half the man that Blake’s wide open fields and barns made him.

Perhaps this is why he can’t refuse Blake anything.

Reluctantly he removes his fingers, Blake deflating a little at the loss. With a cursory glance around- something to ensure their isolation- he makes a move to straddle Blake’s lap. His knees either side of Blake’s thighs and his hands planted firmly in the earth by his head. To look down on him like this is something else entirely. Blake- as sturdy as he is- is not a large man by any means, but to see him caged like this he looks almost impossibly small, fragile, like Will could break him with any wrong move. He almost wants to. 

‘ _Will,’_ The way that his name sounds on Blake’s tongue is frankly painful, but if it were the last thing he heard he’d die happy. They’re so close that Will can feel Blake’s breath on his skin, they may as well be sharing air- they probably are.

‘We have to move,’ He has to get Blake pressed up against something, anything, to do this right. Blake seems to get the idea. When Will moves to let him up he scrambles toward the tree Will had been leaning against; tugging Will along with him. The position remains the same, only upright; Blake pressed between Will and something solid. Only this time Will’s hands are free. Free to cup Blake’s face as he pulls him in for a kiss. The skin of his cheeks is as smooth as it is hot; not yet worn by age nor weather. He only drops his hands to start on Blake’s jacket, he makes short work of it; always easier to undo something than it is to put it back together. Will let’s his hands slip underneath Blake’s undershirt; desperate to touch, to map out every inch of him. Blake tries his best to stay quiet, but when Will’s mouth finds it way to his neck he can’t help the low moan that escapes him. 

‘Can I?’ Will asks, hands on the waistband of Blake’s trousers, hoping to god Blake knows what he means.

‘Anything,’ Blake sighs, nestling his head into the crook of Will’s neck, ‘ _ Anything. _ ’

Those buttons don’t last long after that. Will feels one of Blake’s hands in his hair, the feel of Blake’s blunt nails against his scalp makes him shiver. He pulls when Will’s hand makes it to his dick and Will doesn’t mind. The sharp sting of it feels good. It’s only between his trousers and his underwear, Will’s not brave enough to forgo the last layer yet, but still good enough apparently. Even if he were brave, there’s something to be said about Blake coming in his pants like the teenager he is and how the shame of it might play out on his features. Will can’t see Blake’s face where it’s hidden- he’d give up the feeling of Blake’s lips on his neck just to see his eyes right now. To see if they’re red again, or if the ink black of his dilated pupils has finally eclipsed the blue.

‘fuck- _Sco_ ,’ Blake whines, and as if by God’s own hand Will’s prayers are answered. Blake’s head snaps back; the thump it makes as it hits the tree trunk sounds like it might’ve hurt but Blake doesn’t react to it. He really is beautiful. His mouth is parted and his eyes are hazy- the pink cast of his cheeks darker now, spread further than usual. Will wants to see Blake like this until he goes blind or dies, whatever comes first.

Will isn’t particularly talented at this- he has no experience with the male anatomy save his own. He isn’t too concerned, though, because he’s pretty sure Blake has no experience with anything at all- that or he just doesn’t care. If the little, private sounds that Blake makes are anything to go off of he doesn’t care at all.

Will kisses Blake again; partly because he wants to, partly to quiet him down. It’s a good decision either way because Blake kisses back like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do; desperate and needy. It doesn’t take much, nor very long, to send Blake over the edge- not when he’s been teetering on it all day. He can feel it when it happens; Blake stills against him, his grip in Will’s hair tightening. He slumps forward again afterward, a dead weight on Will’s shoulder. The fabric of Blake’s underwear is damp and a little sticky, and to some degree so is Will’s hand. Using the grass, he wipes Blake off of him.

‘Better now?’ Will asks, because it’s all he can think to say. He feels a little lost in the aftermath.

‘Better,’ Blake groans into the fabric of Will’s uniform. His voice a little wrecked, ‘Thank you.’ 


End file.
